Tombé (To Fall)
by 221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: It's Sherlock's opening night as the Nutcracker, and okay, maybe he's a little nervous. But, luckily, he just so happens to have a boyfriend waiting in the wings to catch him if he falls.


"Okay then, good luck!"

"Thank you." Sherlock's voice shook with a mixture of excitement and nerves. He pulled his phone away from his ear, hanging up without a thought. It was today. Not only that, it was in a couple of _hours_. All that work amounting to now.

" _Last minute rehearsal in five, all main cast of act two on stage please."_ Mrs. Hudson's crackling voice called through the outdated overhead speaker.

"Sherlock! Where the hell have you been? You heard her, there's five minutes 'till final rehearsal. Molly's already on stage, waiting for you!" Irene yelled, rounding the corner into Sherlock's room, her snow-white tutu shaking with her frustration.

"Tense, are we?" Sherlock teased, raising an eyebrow.

"I have one day a year to be stressed as hell, and it's today. **Come on!** " Irene marched away, Sherlock following a moment later. They walked through the heavy metal door, thankfully open so they didn't have to push it, and onto back-stage, taking care not to over the polished, black wood. It would come in handy for Sherlock's pirouettes but walking on it in his ballet flats was hazardous at best.

" _Sherlock? Where are you? Sherlock?"_ Mrs. Hudson's voice called through the microphone, agitatedly. " _Where is that boy?"_

"Right here, Hudders." Sherlock announced, walking onto the stage through the wings. Mrs. Hudson shook her head at the nickname before raising the mic again.

" _I think we should start. We'll go from Clara falling asleep, to the rats and toys, then the nutcracker and finish with the snowflakes. Is Irene here to lead that dance?"_

"Right here, Mrs. Hudson." Irene called, waving her hand out from the wings.

" _Good, let's begin."_ The stage cleared, only Molly, Sally and Dimmock remaining on stage. Sherlock watched with a smile as Molly transformed out of herself and into Clara, a young girl filled with wonder and hope, saying goodnight to her parents after a Christmas party.

The music rose and fell, going softer and quieter as Clara fell asleep. But it quickly changed, the pace quickening with a mixture of excitement and unease. Out of the wings, a rat scurried on stage, arms raised like paws, backs hunched. It was soon followed by more, the king soon joining them too with a dark trumpet solo taking charge in the music.

Clara was terrified running around in a fruitless attempt to escape. But the music changed again and suddenly the toys came to life. Clown dolls cartwheeled on, falling over themselves comically. Ballerina dolls pirouetted gracefully, their arms raised. Raggedy Anne dolls played, skipping together in a circle. Cat toys prowled and purred, licking their paws and looking charismatic. It was almost chaotic, watching it unfold. It felt like someone had tipped a box of toys upside down and let them wreak havoc.

Sherlock took that as his cue and got himself into position behind the back curtain concentrating on the music, looking for the change to a military beat. A trumpet sounded and Sherlock stepped through, revealing himself as the now alive nutcracker. He saluted first to Clara and then to the small audience. The battle commenced quickly as he faced the rat king. Sherlock loved this part, especially knowing that it was Anderson behind that awful mask.

The defeat came swiftly, Anderson falling to his knees and dying. The rats carried him off, the toys following soon after, leaving Sherlock alone to be thanked by Clara. Then, Irene appeared, expression serene as she fluttered around them. He then lead Clara off, sighing in relief when he made his way through the wings. That had been so satisfying, getting it right the last time before the actual performance.

He walked forward to watch Irene from the wings, her snow queen persona endlessly graceful and precise, all pointed toes and swooping arms as she gran jéted across the stage, landing softly each time despite the blocks in her pointe shoes

The other snowflakes followed her, jéteing on from the wings two by two before turning around each other and jéteing off. The music picked up, a choir singing in harmonious tune in the background as all the girls flocked to the stage. Their arms moved through first to fourth to fifth in an endless port de bras.

It all climaxed with Irene pirouetting in the middle, the snowflakes circling her again and again and one more time, before finally exiting, their arms raised like swans about to take flight. The music stopped and the small audience watching from the chairs clapped, Sherlock clapping with them as he walked back onto stage.

" _Very good, Irene. Just remember to keep those turns tight. Well done, snowflakes. Miriam, I need you to jump higher. Christie, I need you to remember to pass in front of Angelica. Jackie your jétes aren't in time to the music. Elizabeth, keep your toes pointed. The rest of you are fine. Ah, Sherlock,"_ Mrs. Hudson turned her gaze on him, " _Practically perfect, dear. Just make sure you time your entrance perfectly tonight, I don't want you a second off-beat, I trust that you can do that. Now, where are the toys?"_ Sherlock nodded, exiting the stage and heading for the dressing rooms, Irene and Molly joining him.

He didn't bother listening to Molly's endless prattle as she went on and on about something or other, arm brushing against Irene's as she walked. No, instead he watched Irene's face as it lit up, eyes bright as she smiled. She really was very obvious.

Sherlock sighed as they parted ways heading for his own dressing room, kept separate from the girls 'for propriety's sake. It felt strange to be on the bottom floor again after spending so many years on the upper ones. Only the main cast got to be on the bottom floor, closest to the main stage and the team of sewers working flat out at any last minute adjustments and repairs.

Sherlock turned into his dressing room, shutting the door behind him before turning and stopping, gobsmacked. There, wearing his usual gorgeous smile and carrying a large bouquet of flowers, was John. He shrugged, his rugby jersey pulling against his shoulders.

"I asked which room was your's and they said this one. Figured I'd wait for you." He grinned. "How was your practice? Ready for tonight?" Sherlock nodded, letting out a nervous breath. John simply laughed, putting down the flowers and pulling Sherlock into his arms instead. "You'll be brilliant." He whispered in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock felt himself blushing, heat pooling in his cheeks as he leaned back in an attempt to cool them, placing a cold palm on either side to speed up the process.

"Thank you, John. Do you want to stay here until the show starts? It's less than an hour away."

"Of course. In fact, I brought gummy bears and marshmallows for just this occasion." John pulled out two brightly coloured packets from his pockets. "Figured you'd want an energy boost before you go on stage."

Sherlock nodded, sitting on the hardwood floor and John doing the same. "So, you nervous?" John asked.

"No." Sherlock stated immediately.

"Sure." John had that annoying half smirk on his face, the one he always wore when he thought Sherlock was fibbing, which he _wasn't!_

"John. I am not nervous." Sherlock told him sternly.

"Of course, you're not." John replied innocently, but he still had that infuriating half-smirk that Sherlock was determined to put an end to.

"John, I'm not." Sherlock repeated emphatically.

"I know! I know you think you're not." John replied, and that smirk grew, pulling up both corners of his mouth.

"No, I don't think it, I know it." Sherlock growled, leaning on his knees into John's space.

"I know, I know. You think you're not nervous. God, stop repeating it!" John laughed, moving back and away from Sherlock.

"I'm _not_ nervous, John." Sherlock insisted, advancing even further toward him. "I'm _not._ "

"Okay, Okay." John relented, raising his hands, pressing them against Sherlock's shoulders where he loomed over him.

"Say I'm not."

"Nah." John shook his head infuriatingly.

"Say it!" Sherlock moved even closer, John falling on his back now.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel like it." John answered with a put-upon yawn.

"Say it!" He was inches from John's face now.

" **Fine!** " John bellowed. "You're not fricking nervous.

"Thank you." Sherlock suddenly became very aware of the space between them, or lack thereof. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi."

"I…" Sherlock pursed his lips, trying to think of something to say, a task made very difficult when looking into John Watson's deep blue eyes. "I-"

"Hey, lovebirds!" Came a shout and both he and John snapped their heads around to see a furious Irene, hands planted on her hips. "Curtains up in thirty minutes. Less lovin', more practicing."

"Yes, maám." Sherlock drawled, rolling his eyes, but he complied, pulling himself up and dusting off his costume.

"You know better than to wear that while you're lying on those dusty floors!" Irene reprimanded him. God, she was worse than Mrs. Hudson!

"Actually, he wasn't lying on the _floor._ " John corrected with a smirk, Irene rolling her eyes.

"You two are hopeless." She sighed. "God, I hope you're eating more than that." She cried, pointing to the packets of gummy bears and marshmallow.

"Well…" Sherlock trailed off.

"For God's sakes, John, feed the man _proper_ food!" She shouted.

"Fine, fine." John relented shaking his head at her.

"Good." Sher turned and left, muttering a final "I only have twenty-eight minutes left, now."

"Gosh, I thought she was bad before." John raised his eyebrows, looking at Sherlock.

"Believe me, I know." Sherlock replied solemnly.

"Luckily, I did actually bring some strawberries. And I also have Gatorade." John announced.

"God, you're good." Sherlock said with a smile, John nodding in turn and reaching into his backpack to bring them out.

They ate in silence, Sherlock going over his routine in his head. John seemed content to sit there, eating his share of the strawberries slowly while Sherlock finished off both the gummy bears and the Gatorade.

" _Ten minutes to curtain, ten minutes to curtain. Everyone backstage, please."_

"Here we go." Sherlock breathed.

"Good luck" John nodded his head, resting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Even though you won't need it."

Sherlock huffed a laugh. "Thanks." They walked out the door together, hands clasped. They walked through to the back-stage where they had to part smiling at each other before John turned and walked through the door to the audience, Sherlock watching from his spot behind the curtain.

"You ready?" Molly asked, moving up beside him. She was in her party dress, her long hair in two pigtails with bows at the end.

"Of course." Sherlock scoffed. She merely smiled in return. The was the low sound of Mrs. Hudson rushing everyone into position before beckoned to Molly.

"Guess I'll see you at your grand entrance." Molly said with a smile, turning and rushing onstage just as the music started.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He hated not starting onstage. Instead, he had to wait in the wings, tension building as the moment of his entrance grew closer and closer. He wandered behind the stage, spotting the toys playing cards together, speaking in hushed whispers.

"Sherlock." One hissed rather than called, waving him over. He walked over peering into the darkness.

"Oh, hello, Deborah." He greeted, smiling a little at her. She was dressed as a clown, a costume that rather fitted her cheerful personality.

"How were your end of year exams?" She asked, tilting her head animatedly.

"Alright, I guess." Sherlock replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, well you're the first one to say so." She joked, smiling at him as Sherlock huffed a laugh. "How's John?"

"Goog. Really good." Sherlock replied, blushing slightly at the thought of his boyfriend.

"He asked my little sister where your room was, and she told him. Did he find it okay." She asked with a wink.

"Surprisingly, yes." Sherlock joked back with a smile.

"Good." She nodded. "So, did they fix the elastic on your hat?" She asked, nodding to the hat which lay on the props table.

"Yep, I won't have to keep pushing it up now."

"Cool."

"Okay, toys, into position." A voice called and everyone stood up, Deborah too.

"Cartwheel straight." He urged.

"Don't let Anderson kill you." She replied solemnly before breaking into a smile.

"Right." He saluted her, turning to ready himself behind the curtain while she and the other toys gathered in the wings.

"I can do this." He whispered to himself. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the music, readying himself for that thrumming rhythm.

Trumpets sounded and Sherlock straightened his back, schooling his expression to a military blankness. In one fluid motion, he stepped beyond the curtain and became _The Nutcracker_.

Time moved differently when Sherlock danced. It was incredibly slow, allowing Sherlock to narrow down to single details, pointed toes, the feeling of being suspended in the air for a moment before he crashed gracefully to the ground. At the same time, it was incredibly fast, whole scenes and acts escaping him as he danced through them, mind so focused, he doesn't notice the time rushing by. It reminded Sherlock a lot of when he's around John, noticing every little detail, the tiny movements, the shared smiles while the whole world went rushing by, leaving the two of them perpetually late for everything.

Sherlock smiled as he took his bow, Molly grasping his hand excitedly. It seemed fitting that the things he loved affected him in the way they did. And, wow, did that thought make Sherlock blush, to classify John as something he loved in his head. But he seemed right there, like there was a space that had just been waiting for Sherlock to place John in for a while.

"We did it!" Molly whispered, her smile so bright he was sure it was paining her cheeks.

"Yeah, we did." Sherlock walked forward to bow one last time before the whole stage turned to clap to Mrs. Hudson who stood beside the stage, smiling at them all. Irene walked over and dragged her out, pushing her to the middle of the stage to take her own bow. Then, slowly, the curtains closed, and they were left staring wide-eyed at each other, surprised to be back on earth and no longer in a place of toys, snowflakes, and sugar plum fairies.

"Okay, people, that's the end of night one! One down five more to go!" Mrs. Hudson tittered, smiling widely over the crowd. "Now let's thank primary, stand up primary!" The tiny, little people, no older than six, all stood up, curtsying tiny, wonky curtseys. Mrs. Hudson continued to call up the grades, the last leaving once they'd curtseys.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Molly fawned over the little people, saying how cute they were. He turned and searched for Irene.

"Hey, hot stuff." Irene greeted, sidling up beside him.

"Hello." Sherlock drawled.

"You know, you got an insane amount of claps tonight. I would be jealous, but I don't feel like I could quite pull off that shade of blue." Irene quipped.

"Shut up." Sherlock grumbled, but he couldn't stay mad at her for long, not after what John would call a kick-ass opening night.

"And finally, well-done seniors, Sherlock, Molly, Irene, Anderson, Sally, Dimock. You did splendidly!" Sherlock bowed quickly, turning to head to his dressing room, thoroughly exhausted in a way that put a smile on his face.

"Sherlock!" The happy cry was all he heard, when Sherlock was suddenly engulfed in a hug, his face smushed into the soft fabric of a rugby jersey.

"Uh, John?" Sherlock started.

"Yeah?"

"You're hurting me."

"Oh, sorry." John immediately stepped backward, looking sheepishly up at him.

"That's okay." Sherlock hesitated for a moment before slowly putting his hand in John's. They walked quietly to Sherlock's dressing room, going inside. "So, did you like the show?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes!" John cried ecstatically. 'It was amazing!"

"Thank you." Sherlock allowed himself to smile shyly up at John.

"No, I mean it! You were absolutely incredible!" John swept a hand through his blonde hair. "I just- I've never seen anything so beautiful, so graceful. The way you moved, your finesse. I-"

"John, you're babbling." Sherlock interrupted him, but he was very aware of the blush on his cheeks.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I'm sorry. Shit, I'm doing it again." John scolded him.

"It's okay." Sherlock laughed. He began to pull off his coat, undoing the big brass buttons. He happily stretched out his arms, pleased to be free of the heavy, blue fabric. He snapped the elastic straps of his leotard, a habit of his, before pulling off his black trousers.

"Uh, Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"I kinda… Got you something. It being Christmas and your first night and everything." John coughed. He grabbed his bag and pulled out a large box tied with old string.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked as John handed the box over.

"Well, do you remember that student art piece you were telling me about? It was a violin made entirely from buttons."

"Of course I remember." Sherlock replied.

"Well…" John trailed off. No, John couldn't have. Sherlock undid the wrappings with shaking fingers. He couldn't contain his gasp when he saw the polished violin lying there. He ran his fingers over the bumpy surface with a smile.

"It turns out that students are really happy when someone asks to buy their school art projects, a lucky break with the news or not." John grinned.

"John, how… Why…" Sherlock shook his head. "God, I love you." Sherlock paused as his eyes went wide. Did he really just say that?

John crowded his space. "I love you too, Sherlock." He kissed Sherlock soundly on the lips, and it set Sherlock's heart afloat. "God, you're my everything."

"You're mine too." Sherlock whispered. John grinned against his lips before pulling him into another kiss.

And Sherlock didn't even complain that there was no way he'd be able to top his performance tonight tomorrow.


End file.
